It was bound to happen. Yesterday morning I couldn’t remember whether I had taken my thyroid pill or not, and I had to count the number of days I’ve been taking the meds, and the number of pills left in the bottle … and thus, I came to understand why old people love these little pill carriers so much.

I think this is my rite of passage into some new stage of life; one that includes the clapper, telephones with BIG DIGIT buttons and little electric buggies that fold up and fit in the trunk of my Buick.